Deceiving Appearances
by HeroesLover77
Summary: Walker has always been into petty crime, but he would never hurt anyone. So when he is accused of doing so, the others want desperately to believe that he is innocent. It would be a lot easier to do if Walker could get his story straight...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: WARNING this fanfic strays very much from the comedic nature of the show, but it isn't too dark or anything. Please don't hate on me Oh by the way, I absolutely don't own anything! (Except the OCs)

Also, I apologize for any historical inaccuracies, as well as any inaccuracies or inconsistencies pertaining to the show itself. I only started watching the show a couple weeks ago.

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><p>CHAPTER ONE –<p>

Pte. Joe Walker groaned as he rolled onto his side. His head was killing him. In fact, he was sore all over. He opened his eyes to see the sun setting beyond some building tops.

"Blimey, where am I?" He muttered to himself. He glanced down at his wrist watch, and noticed that his knuckles were all bruised and cut.

_I must've gotten into a bit of a scrap, _Walker thought, not all that surprised, _it wouldn't be the first time. _

He was disappointed to see that the glass over the face of his watch was cracked. He took great pride in that watch. He hadn't stolen it, or acquired it on the black market. It had been passed down from his father, and his father before him, and Walker wouldn't have sold it for anything.

Behind the cracked glass, Walker saw that it was almost 7 o'clock. And he was in uniform, which meant it was Wednesday. He was going to be late for parade if he didn't hurry!

Walked pulled himself to his feet, and took a moment to get his bearings. He was in an alley way between two buildings that he didn't recognise.

_What was I doing passed out back here? _Walker thought to himself. He tried to recall the events that had preceded his waking up, but his memory was all blurry. _Had I been drinking? _He thought. _No_. He wouldn't have gotten drunk before parade, and he didn't taste any booze in his mouth.

Through one end of the alley, he could see the water in the distance.

He grabbed his cap from the ground, headed towards the street, and followed the boardwalk until he reached the church hall. While he walked, he tried desperately to recall how he'd received these injuries, and how he had wound up passed out in an alley.

Not to mention the fact that his rifle was missing. How was he going to explain that one?

* * *

><p>"Everyone present, Sergeant?" Captain Mainwaring asked, returning the Sergeant's salute as he joined his men in the main hall.<p>

"Everyone except for Joe, I'm afraid." Wilson replied.

"Who?" Mainwaring asked.

"Oh, right, terribly sorry. Everyone except for Private Walker, sir." Wilson answered, managing to keep from rolling his eyes.

"That's better." The Captain told him. "Walker, eh? I should've known he'd be the one to skip tonight's lecture! It's on military courtesy, you know. Very well, we shall have to proceed without him. Tell the men to fall out."

"Right sir. Fall out please, yes, thank you." Wilson ordered. Mainwaring glared at his 2IC. Why couldn't he be more forceful, more militant?

"Listen up, men." Mainwaring said, returning his attention to the troops in front of him. "Sponge, Pike and Frazer, I want you three to go bring out some chairs. The rest of you, help them set up."

Just as the men got to work setting up for the Captain's lecture, the front door opened. Walker came in, head down and hands in his pockets.

"Walker!" Mainwaring barked. "Over here, double time!"

Walker glanced up. He looked deep in thought as he meandered over to Wilson and the Captain.

"What is the meaning of this? You're over twenty minutes late!" Mainwaring demanded.

" 'm sorry, sir." Walker mumbled, appearing exceedingly distracted.

"Well? I expect at least an explanation!"

Joe frowned, deepening the creases in his forehead. He honestly wished he could give the man an explanation.

"I – I was late because…" He began. Usually he was much more quick when making up a lie, but his headache seemed to be impeding his thought process.

"Have you been in a fight, Private?" The older man demanded. "You have a black eye and cut lip!"

Walker brought his hand up and felt his lip. There was blood on his fingers when he brought them away.

"Umm…"

"And where is your rifle!" Mainwaring cried, suddenly noticing the disparate lack of a fire arm in the private's hand.

"I must've left it at home." Walker told him. Maybe it was the truth, but Walker could figure out why he would leave home without it on his way to parade. He prayed for his own sake that that's where it would be when he returned home that night.

"This conduct is absolutely unacceptable." Mainwaring said, turned red in the face. "See me in my office after parade." He ordered.

"Yes, Cap'n." Walker mumbled. Before going to sit down, he exchanged a glance with Wilson. The kindly Sergeant felt sorry for him, and turned to his CO.

"Sir, perhaps you shouldn't be too hard on Pte. Walker."

"Why not?" The Captain asked. "He needs someone to be hard on him, that's the only way he'll be straightened out!"

"He isn't himself tonight, that much is evident." Wilson said. "Perhaps he's had a difficult day."

"Well, whatever caused him to take leave of his senses, I will soon know about it. Take a seat, Wilson, I'm ready to start the lecture."

As Walker sat down, Frank Pike, in the row behind him, leaned forward.

"Where were you?" Pike asked.

"To be honest, Pikey, that's the strange thing about all this. I can't remember."

"What does that mean?" Pike said, frowning.

"I – I don't know." Walker said, genuinely perplexed. "I woke up in an alley somewhere on the other side of town. I've got these cuts on my hands, and face. I figure I was hit over the head or something, 'cuz I've got the most ruddy awful headache."

"That might be why you can't remember anything." Frank suggested. "Once I fell off my bike, and hit my head on a rock. And to this day, I can't remember where I was headed to when I fell!"

"Yeah, maybe that's it." Walker said absently.

"No talking!" Mainwaring ordered, taking his place on the stage in front of the troops. "Now this lecture is on military courtesy. It is essential that all home guards units…"

Walker couldn't pay attention for very long. As the Captain blabbered on about military courtesy, teaching the men things that they already knew, Walker searched his mind for any clue as to what might have happened in that alley.

But by the time the lecture was over, Walker hadn't learned anything new about what had happened to him, or about military courtesy for that matter.

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><p>AN: That's chapter one. Thanks for reading! Please R/R!


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO –

Following the dismissal of the men, Mainwaring motioned for Walker to join him the next room. When both men had disappeared behind Mainwaring's closed door, and most of the men had vacated the parade square, Wilson pressed his ear up against the office door, intent on eavesdropping.

"Take a seat, Private." The Captain said, seating himself behind the desk.

Walker hesitantly sat down.

"Do you have anything you'd like to say?" Mainwaring asked.

Walker shrugged.

"Let's start with you're arriving 20 minutes late to parade this evening. You never gave me any sort of explanation."

"I'd like to give you one, sir, I'd really like to. I can't get my head around it, but…I don't remember why I was late."

"What sort of an answer is that?"

Walker set his jaw in frustration. How was he supposed to explain something that he himself did not understand?

"On to my next grievance." Mainwaring continued. "Where did you get all those cuts and bruises?"

"I. Don't. Remember." Walker repeated, beginning to feel just as angry as he was confused.

"And your rifle? I suppose you don't remember where you left that either?" Mainwaring shouted, leaning forward across the desk top. The men almost never took their rifles home, but since they had met earlier that same day for an exercise, they had been allowed to take the weapons home for the brief time between the exercise and the evening parade.

"No, as a matter of fact!" Walker snapped back. "Either it was stolen while I was passed out, or I left it at home for some bizarre reason!"

Outside, Wilson jumped when Pike tapped him on the shoulder.

"Goodness, Frank, don't do that!" Wilson admonished.

"Sorry Uncle Arthur." Pike said, not sounding all that sorry. "What is Captain Mainwaring yelling about?"

"He's having a talk with Walker. It's private."

"Oh, I see." Pike said, adopting Wilson's position, pressing himself up against the door.

"Passed out?" Mainwaring repeated, easing himself back into his seat. "What are you playing at, Walker?"

"I don't know. The last thing I can remember was leaving my house, on my way over to parade. Next thing I knew, I was laying in some alley on the other side of town. The nearest I can figure is it that I was mugged."

"Muggers? In Walmington-on-Sea?" Mainwaring asked doubtfully. "Do you really think that was it?"

"I don't know." Walker repeated. He felt like he had run that phrase into the ground.

"Is it possible that you had too much to drink, got into a bar fight and were thrown into a back alley behind some public house?"

"Maybe." Walker answered. "Listen, sir, I've told you all I could remember. Can I go now?"

"I suppose so, Private. If you arrive home and your rifle is NOT there, you need to call me at once on my home telephone. A stolen or misplaced weapon needs to be reported to the police."

"Understood." Walker said.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Wilson and Pike jump back from the door as he swung it open to leave.

Walker sent a dirty look their way. He was in a bad mood, and this wasn't any of their business.

"Good evening, Walker." Wilson said politely, with a smile.

"Sure." Walker muttered and stormed out of the parade hall. Outside, it was raining.

_Perfect_. He held his collar tight to keep the rain out, and began home. As he walked, he tried, despite his terrible headache, to put the pieces together. He was unsuccessful. A sizable lump had developed on the side of his head, and he had this awful persistent ache behind his eyes. It was much worse than having a hang over.

The only thing he was able to focus on at the moment was getting home. His warm bed seemed very appealing at the moment.

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><p>0330 hrs -<p>

On the far edge of town, a police car without its lights on (air raid hazard, you know), pulled to a stop in front of a boarded up old shop.

A police detective by the name of Porter got out of the car, wearing a navy mac raincoat overtop of his suit, and holding a torch. He walked over to a pair of constables, who were standing between the old shop and an building that had been recently ruined by a nearby bomb. They were visibly shaken.

"Evening gentlemen. What's the situation?" The detective asked.

"W-we've never had something like this in Walmington-on-Sea before, sir." Said the younger of the two constables. The elder of the two switched on his torch and motioned for the detective to follow him into the alley between the two buildings.

When the light fell on the victim, the detective, seasoned as he was, felt a twang in his gut.

"We found her while walking our beat. Actually it was young Constable Lorne who spotted her. Lad's a bit shaken up." Then he added a bit quieter "He's not the only one."

"Did she have any identification on her?" Detective Porter asked.

"No sir, afraid she didn't." The constable replied. "Nor did she have any jewellery on her. Robbery gone wrong?" He suggested.

"Single gun shot wound to the head." The detective observed, crouching to observe the body in closer proximity. "Various defensive wounds. She was small, but she fought to protect herself..."

"Unfortunately, it's difficult to protect yourself against a rifle shot." The constable interjected.

"Rifle." The detective repeated, taking a closer look at the wound. "Interesting weapon of choice. Anyone could be spotted walking around with a rifle, so why not use a hand gun?"

"Unless he had a car, sir, and drove away." The constable suggested.

"Or perhaps, the weapon is still here someplace." The detective stood back up. "This entire alley, and those around here are lined with rubbish containers. Get Constable Lorne to help you search. I'll help you after the coroner has seen to the body."

"Right, sir." The man said, and he returned to the foot of the alley, where his young partner had remained.

Detective Porter glanced woefully down at the body. She would've been around 25, and looked like a nice girl. He couldn't imagine taking the life of someone like that. Wasn't there enough fighting and death these days? Some people disgusted him. He decided that from that moment on, the case was personal.

A rifle was discovered at the end of the same alley, in a large waste bin. It was removed carefully so as not to disturb fingerprints.

"Now we're getting somewhere." Detective Porter said as he was handed the weapon. He looked over it once, frowning.

"What is it, sir?" Asked the younger constable, who had apparently regained his composure.

"This is a standard service issue rifle." Porter mused. "Not many people have access to these. This means that our killer is either a regular soldier, or a member of the Local Defence Volunteers."

"I believe they go by home guard now, detective." Explained the young man.

The detective nodded politely at the irrelevant piece of information, and asked if the constables knew of a local platoon.

"Oh, Mr. Mainwaring, the bank manager, is head of a platoon on the other side of town." Explained the older constable. "Next to his platoon, I think there's one in Eastgate…"

"I'll start with the bank manager."

"They parade a few times a week at the church hall near the bank."

"Good." The Detective said. "I'll ask after him tomorrow. I'm sure he would know if one of his rifles were missing. Or if one of his men were absent from parade during the time of the victim's death."

"I hope it isn't one of Mainwaring's lot. Some of my mates are members of that platoon. So are old Mr. Jones and Mr. Godfrey. I couldn't see anybody in that platoon as a murderer!" Constable Lorne said.

"Well, I doubt that Mr. Godfrey or Mr. Jones would've been capable of inflicting the wounds." Explained the young man's partner…

"Still, even an elderly gentleman would be capable of pulling the trigger of the gun that killed her." The detective cut in. "Remember, constables. Looks can be deceiving."

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><p>AN: Thanks for reading : ) Sorry it took so long, but I've been away.


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